


where i can see you

by daaarkknight (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barbara Gordon is Robin, Bruce (kinda) adopts Barbara, Bruce and Hanni are dad goals, Canon Bruce, Fluff, Gen, Hannibal adopts Abigail, Heart-to-Heart, Heartbreak, M/M, No gratuitous violence, OOC Hannibal kinda?, Series Hannibal, Who wouldn't wanna be Hannibal's patient?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/daaarkknight
Summary: Hannibal finds a kindred spirit; Batman finds something better.This fic is dedicated to love inconvenient, where monsters have hearts.
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon & Hannibal Lecter, Bruce Wayne & Hannibal Lecter, Bruce Wayne/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7
Collections: Batman, BatmanFanfiction, Favorite Batman Fics, Hannibal Kink Meme, Hannibal Spring Fling 2015, Hannibang: The Hannibal Big Bang, The Most Wonderful Collection of Hannibal AUs, batman orignal characters





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissDisoriental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDisoriental/gifts), [emungere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/gifts), [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/gifts), [FabulaRasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/gifts).



> This fic will be continuously updated for a few days, so if it strikes your fancy, keep in touch!

"The Wendigo.

"It's growing antlers. All over Gotham. Over every nook, every alley." Bruce is pacing around the porch, frantically searching through his hair.

"Death."

"No. Not just death.

"Death by cannibalism." 

"Ah. The Wendigo is partially human."

"Yes." 

"And the antlers spreading over Gotham?" 

"We're consuming ourselves, Hannibal. 

"There's death around every corner, in the eyes of every child. 

"If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it." 

"That children are capable of such deep cruelty? 

"Children are capable of everything adults are, Bruce. 

"If they weren't, how would you explain evil? Where does evil spring from?" 

"So you're saying...the most sanctified myth in human history...is just that. A myth. There is no innocence."

"There is. But not in children. It is no merit to remain untouched and unstained when you're kept pure. That is not true innocence."

"Innocence is a blankness of the slate. Children are pure potential, Hannibal." 

"Like Robin."

"Yes. And no."

"You mold her. If she had fallen into hands other than yours..."

"But she didn't fall into my hands. She found her way into them. She's a fighter." 

"You're proud of her, aren't you." 

"She can be better than me, one day, Hannibal. 

"She _will_ be better. 

"She will show Gotham a light I couldn't." 

"Bruce. 

"You're feeding her your fantasies. You're fattening her on your victories, and bleeding her for your defeats. 

"Barbara is not your soul. She is not your childhood, not your innocence. Although it is natural. 

"We see the future in eyes too young to have a past.

"That is the reason people who can't stand children inevitably can't stand themselves." 

"That bodes well for me." Bruce leans back and takes a deep breath. 

"Yes." 

"Bodes well for both of us," he says. 

Hannibal's eyes shift for a second.

"Hannibal. 

"There is something I have to tell you. 

"I'm leaving Gotham for a while. 

"I want you to come with me. 

"You and Abigail. 

"There's a dark presence in Gotham, Hannibal.

"Some pervading force. An unseen hand. And now I know what it is. For months I've been sniffing. And I've caught the scent."

"And you want to lure it out."

"I can't chance leaving you here." 

"Because I could become bait." 

"And there's a good chance what's shadowing me knows it." 

"Abigail and I will go into hiding, then. Until you are...done."

"Yes, a safe house. Why didn't I think of it?" 

"Because your fondness was blinding you. And, I would say, because you don't know when you're going to be back. 

" _If_ you're going to be back."

Bruce turns his face to the mountains. 

"Bruce. Look at me. 

"Who is coming?"

Bruce turns. 

"Hannibal, the more you know, the less you're going to like." 

"I extrapolated as much. But if you take me for a sentimental fool who will stand in the way of your duty, you have not picked wisely for a friend."

Bruce's shoulders drop. 

"I may never come back, Hannibal." 

"I see." 

"I have finally met my match." 

"Have you?"

"Yes. 

"A man born in a cage, Hannibal. A man who knew stone walls instead of a mother. Who fought the devil before he ever fought me." 

"And what does he want from you?" 

"What they all want. A piece of me."

"To prove himself." 

"No. He has a good sense of his worth." 

"I sense your admiration." Hannibal observes quietly. The smoky dawn curls around his nostrils. 

"I don't want to tear him apart. 

"I have to." 

"I see. 

"And you don't want Barbara. There." 

"No." 

"But you have no problem exposing Abigail." 

"I'm not her father." 

"No. Indeed."

"I think it will be excellent education for her. After she has seen what her father did with his bare hands." Bruce offers. 

"You think it may do her good to see not all hands are ugly." 

"It will be ugly, Hannibal. But she is...up to it. Watching." 

"If you fight him to the death, you consider him worthy. He is a man of honor."

"Yes." 

"There is no...peaceful resolution?" 

Bruce exhales a laugh. 

"I don't think he's the sort to sit on a therapist's couch and sort through his troubles." 

"Have you offered?" 

"No. "

"And you are so certain he will say no." 

"I...

"I think I’ve had enough. The threat to my daughter. The threat to my life. The threat to this city.

 _"My_ city."

“Bats are known to be territorial. But they attack in colonies, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your colony, Bruce?”

“Maybe I’m the last one left."

"The Wendigo is always alone."

Bruce starts, almost imperceptibly to anyone except Hannibal.

"You think _I_ am an insatiable spirit of gluttony and hunger."

"Perhaps your subconscious thinks so."

"And perhaps it's not wrong." 

“By taking on the persona of the devil, you are negating the power God has had in your life.”

“You talk so much about deity. Which God do _you_ pray to?”

Hannibal sighs.

“It's been years, Bruce.

“Years since I've prayed.

Bruce swallows.

“The last time I was on my knees was in an alley.

“I’ve never prayed, Hannibal.

“I never had your faith.”

“Do you wish you did?”

“No.

“It can make you see the beauty in all the ugliness.

“It can make you...”

“Yes?”

“God-like. Dangerous. When taken to its logical extreme.”

Hannibal's eyes shine.

“ _Do_ you take it to its logical extreme, Hannibal?”

“What is an _extreme_ , Bruce? You are hardly in a position to tell.”

“I am aware.

“But you're deflecting.”

“So are you.”

Bruce gets up. 

“It's been a pleasure, Hannibal.” 

“Yes. Hasn't it.” 

“Too much of one, I'm afraid.” He grimaces.

“Yes. You don't like to indulge your...finer appetites.” 

“You make yourself sound like a delicatessen.” 

Hannibal smiles. 

“I would be...delicious,” he muses. 

“Yes, you would.” 

“And how would you know? You would never indulge in me.”

“Are you asking me if I would eat you? 

“You know, half the time, I can't tell if you're joking.” 

“I'm not. 

“I'm very serious indeed.” 

“Then yes. I would eat you. Since it would seem to give you such immense satisfaction.” 

“You make me sound like one of our freaks.” 

“We're _all_ freaks, Hannibal.” 

“No, we are not. 

“We are merely waiting to be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Abigail Hobbs. 17. Honors student. High school drop-out. 

Now runs a fish park. 

"Hello, Abigail."

Abigail is wearing a cocktail dress. It's four in the morning. A double-weave scarf is wrapped gently around her throat. Bruce spots Hannibal's careful gaze and easy handling.

Her throat is flushed.

"Hi Bruce."

Abigail feeds the goldfish brine shrimp. Her hands are cold.

Garrett Jacob Hobbs' hands were cold too. Abigail has learned to respect the cold, not fight it.

Bruce knows better than to tell her to go inside.

"Abigail."

Abigail looks up. 

_How did God get away with those eyes?_

Her eyes are a dusty brown, with flecks of sand and wine and ice. They have the look of a fish in a web. 

_I have no place being here._

"Hannibal told me. 

"You're going to fight a monster. A murderer.

"And you want me to watch." 

"No. I wanted to ask you. To offer you that."

"It's the least you can give me."

Abigail doesn't have any passions, that she knows of, besides a voyeuristic pleasure in murder. 

Hannibal thinks the fish are a mockery of her life now. Jailed by her very survival. 

She has a soul. It may even be a good soul. If it had never discovered itself. 

Bruce thinks of what Hannibal said a few mornings ago.

_We're all waiting to be freaks._

How many other freaks were waiting? Out there? Freaks who never discover themselves, and die waiting. Feeling empty. Cursed. 

Not knowing a hollow is sometimes better unfilled. 

"Yes.

"I want to watch."

"It may not be...favorable."

"What're you planning on telling Barbara? If you die, she'll kill you."

Bruce grins. 

"I've never felt more alone, Abigail. And more alive.

"Barbara will mourn. Or she won't. Hannibal and Jim are what she has.

" _You_ are what I have."

He holds out his hand. 

Abigail takes it. 

"My father used to say that."

Bruce has a hunter's poise, a dear's tread through the underbrush. 

Her father hunted young girls. Strange girls. 

This man hunts monsters.

If she had met Bruce. _Before._

Her father had perfected the kill. He worshiped his prey. _Honored every part of it._

Bruce has no regard for his prey. He is the colonizer, imposing his will. 

His order.

Abigail feels the old joy returning to her blood. 

There will be no honoring, no gutting, no carving, no stuffing, no tasting. 

Only the kill.

_Every time God gives a life, he extracts a toll._

_Death and birth come full circle._

_Life feeding into itself._

"Will you kill him?" she asks.

Bruce turns. 

"Life is sacred, Abigail."

"Not all life.

"Not my father's."

Bruce swallows. 

_"See?"_

"Your father, Abigail, is the first person I murdered."

"You didn't murder him."

"It felt like it."

"You saved me."

"You paid the price he wanted you to pay."

"He wanted me to be still. He wanted it all to stop. 

"Does it still haunt you?"

His lashes brush his cheek.

"Everyday."

"My father was haunted too."

Bruce turns to her. 

"He didn't think he was being given much of a choice either."

"He couldn't stop?" 

Abigail brushes back her hair. 

"He'd acquired a taste."

"So did you."

Abigail breathes in the crisp morning air. 


	3. Chapter 3

Batman is the hunted.

On his home turf, he has the home advantage.

He also has an entire city's police force on his scent.

Bruce weighs. It could be used to his advantage. Police are a valuable distraction.

Of course, he can't put a price on one man's life in the force. Surrounding himself with an infinite amount of strings. All Bane would have to do is reach out his hand and _grab_ one innocent, or two, and he would have the Bat.

He's hoping he can make Bane forget that by changing the turf.

_Catch me if you can._

"We're fishing," says Bruce.

Abigail walks by his side.

"What will happen to me? If you're snapped up?"

"Nothing."

Abigail looks around.

"Hannibal is on our trail."

"Hannibal doesn't want me to watch."

"No. He doesn't."

"Is he jealous?"

"He's concerned."

"And aren't you?"

Bruce pauses by a stream trickling into the earth.

"Do you know," he says musing. "Glaciers ripped up New Jersey retreating up into Montreal. They left all these craters and pits...all the irregularities of the Earth, in their wake. Exposed."

"Exposing irregularities can be good."

"But they covered them up, didn't they?"

"You see me as an empty pit, and you're trying to fill me up?"

Bruce walks on. He notices Abigail keeps up easily with his stride.

" _Do_ you want me to fill you up?"

"I don't think I need filling."

"Your father told you killing was the ugliest thing in the world.

"And yet he made you watch."

"He wanted me to know the ugly. Along with the good."

"What was the good?"

"Afterwards. We carved knives out of their bones. We stuffed pillows with their hair. Made putty and soap from the fat."

"You like feeling useful."

Abigail nods.

Bruce sighs. 

"Abigail. I can't give you that. I can't give you that neat bowstring tied onto a girl's life, distributed into a home of love and comfort. I can't give you your father's brand of love."

Abigail holds her hand up to her throat.

"You couldn't love me enough to slit me."

"No." 

"But Hannibal could. Hannibal does."

"He would never do anything to harm you."

"He would if he thought he was going to lose me."

 _She has constructed a fantasy father figure out of the raw essentials I have provided her,_ Hannibal had told Bruce. _I try not to let her down._

Alfred had said something very similar to Bruce, one day, when he brushed back the snow from his face.

_I will try not to let you down, Master Bruce._

_It's all I can give you._

"Sometimes trying is not enough," says Bruce.

"What?"

"Nothing."

_I wish he'd loved me enough to stay. I wish he'd loved me enough to stain himself with my blood._

_But he didn't want to get his heart dirty._

_Alfred, the day Bruce had come back from the Maroni strike._

_"You told me that was the last time."_

_Bruce had noticed he'd dropped the 'Master Bruce'._

_"I am an old man._

_"And you are my son._

_"And you tear me apart every time you step out into the night, with your shadow as your cloak._ _Wrapped in remembrances._

_"I'm still here._

_"I'm not dead."_

What does it feel like to be a living ghost?

Alfred Pennyworth knew.

"The dead overshadow the living."

"We _were_ justtalking about my father."

"Yes. But not your live one."

Abigail digests this.

"The dead are more alive than we are." She says softly.

"In a way."

They reach the cabin, the end of the trail.

Two killers. A friend and a foe. On the other end.

"May the best man win."


	4. Chapter 4

Another person-suit ago. Child giggles, stifled by a mansion.

“Mischa.”

“Hannibal!”

“Mischa!

“Where are you?

“I can’t find you.”

“You never _could_ find me, Hannibal.

“And you never will.”

“I _will_ find you.

“You’re all I dream about.”

He dreams about Misha’s soft, pink flesh.

Her beautiful fingers curled around his palm.

Sulfur licks at his veins.

_Make her a part of your body, forever._

_Never let her grow away like the sycamore tree._

_Never let her realize there were other ways to be in the universe than being a part of you._

_Immortalize her._

There are no wrong sorts of love.

And now Mischa would always be a dainty doll, forever smiling and twirling in his mind palace.

One day, he would eat Bruce. And his palace would be complete.

The only people worthy of his shrine.

There is, of course, Abigail.

But Abigail would grow up.

He would give her the father she never had.

He wonders if Bruce’s love for Barbara could light a candle to his adoration of Abigail Hobbs.

It does come close.

But Bruce does not embrace Barbara for every dark corner of her mind, like Bruce does with Abigail.

And he doesn’t see what Hannibal sees in Barbara Gordon.

Hannibal had once seen a poisonous apricot with an interior of pure rose. It reminded him of Barbara.

_She hasn’t stared into the abyss yet._

_But when she does…_

He cannot imagine the possibilities. And for his imagination that is saying a lot.

"We all need to believe in light. In darkness. In monstrosities. In innocence.

"And we need to keep them separate. Without idolization, there is no love."

Hannibal may not believe Abigail is innocent, but he still wants to believe in her purity.

Batman tracked down Garret Jacob Hobbs.

He was not hard to find. The man wanted to be caught.

He was afraid.

Bruce sits in Hannibal's office later, warm tea in cold hands.

"Very often, serial killers don’t start out intending to be." he says.

"They just can’t help themselves." 

"Yes."

"I couldn’t help myself either."

"I’m sorry?"

"I didn’t start out, Hannibal, wanting to be some giant bat vigilante."

"So…you were possessed?"

"Will you stop with the Judeo-Christian symbolism?"

"I’m afraid not. It is how I authentically contextualize my experience. Or others’.

"I wasn’t possessed, Hannibal."

"You wanted to be."

"Maybe a part of me did."

"The joys of losing control." Hannibal says, leaning back into the deerskin.

"It didn’t stop with Falcone." Bruce' face is a blank mask of ivory. He is talking as if Hannibal isn't even there. "It was supposed to. 

I'd made a promise to Alfred.”

“A promise that cost you.”

“Promises always cost something, don’t they?”

“That is why I generally avoid them.

Then, “Do you resent him? For abandoning you?”

The fog on Bruce’s face melts as quickly as it appeared. He gets up.

“I _can’t_ resent him.”

“Resentment is an indignity. But refusing to feel it does not explain away its occurrence.”

“I think denial is underrated.”

Hannibal laughs.

"Denial is reconstruction. An act of defiance, a snatching away of the pen."

“From the hand of God?”

“Or the Wendigo.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to laugh.

_A cold night. He shivers. He gets up to close the window. He had closed it before going to bed._

_He turns around. Barbara is sitting in his easy chair by the fireplace._

_"Barbara."_

_"Hello, Hannibal."_

_She's bleeding under one arm, which cradles the other one gently. Its bent at an odd angle._ _Hannibal goes to get his medical kit._

_Barbara stops him._

_"I can't stay. I just have something to tell you._

_"Can you sit?"_

_Hannibal sits down unselfconsciously in his pajamas._

_"What's on your mind?"_

_"Mad Hatter has broken out of Arkham."_

_"I see."_

_"I don't have what it takes. To remain in this fight."_

_"You're bowing out?"_

_"I wish...he would take control of me. Tell me what to do._

_"Is that weird?"_

_Hannibal considers._

_"Mad Hatter whisks away your control. And your responsibility. Some would say those are a burden._

_"Is that something you want?"_

_Barbara looks...defeated._

_"There_ can _be something as too much control."_

_"Yes. And responsibility as well."_

_She nods._

_"Sometimes I feel the life ebbing out of me."_

_He gets up. "Are you in pain right now?"_

_"No."_

_"That is bad."_

_"I've had an entire Tylenol scrip."_

_He fixes her a cup of Peach Cobbler Guayusa in the island kitchen. Barbara sips it delicately with her one free hand, while Hannibal cleans and plasters the other._

_"This is delicious. Thank you."_

_"No thanks needed. Only a promise. Which I am in a position to extract from you."_

_"Name it." She says reluctantly, already guessing the direction this was taking._

_"Thirty-six hours of bed rest. Under my supervision. I shall call Bruce."_

_Barbara sighs. She drinks the rest of her tea. Her hair sticks to the side of her cowl, which she hasn't yet taken off._

_"I'm out of commission for at least a week, so why the hell not?"_


	5. Chapter 5

A child lost in a hell on Earth.

Battered by life at every turn.

Taught by his experiences that his weakness was his only foe.

And his only strength was meting out to the world what had been meted to him.

_Millions of years of evolution have encoded into our bones and sinews the irresistible instinct to survive._

_No matter what it makes you._

Bane survived. He became what he had to be.

_Why do we care? To cling on?_

_What is this magic that is so strong, that compelled a boy, drenched in the sea every night, fighting with rats, fishing with his own mouth, to hold on and not dash his brains out?_

_A dream._

_Stories he heard, whispered in the dark._

_Of a city, lonely, dark and deep. Where monsters and men walk in the same light._

_A story of a city that sounded, more and more, like home._

“Gotham nourished me,” says Bane.

“Just like it has nourished you.

“The city of ghouls and demons.

“The city whose soul I seek, and will earn. With my blood.”

Bruce wipes the blood from his chin. His body armour is cracked. He is resolved not to fight this war with anything less than his personal strength. And his personal strength is ebbing.

“Do you know…” Bane continues, “how they took me apart? And put me back together? Do you know that each time I was less of the same? I was more…me. Until they succeeded in taking apart the boy, and putting back together a man. All my world was an excruciating nerve of pain.

“And the only thing that kept me awake was you.”

Bane has no compunction in talking about his pain. He doesn’t pretend there is nothing to fear.

Bruce rushes at him, and at the last minute, swerves. He ducks under the punch aimed at his trachea, and goes straight for Bane’s groin.

Nothing.

Bane laughs.

"A piece, I am afraid, of what I had to pay."

He kicks at Bruce's solar plexus. Bruce flies. His back dashes against an elm, as solid as steel.

Bruce spits.

“Gotham is not mine to give.

“And it’s not yours to take.”

He stands up.

Bane is a rock wall. Firm in all the wrong places.

“How many people?” Bruce asks. “How many people have you torn apart? With your bare hands?”

“As many as needed to be.”

“As you were once torn apart yourself.”

“And as I am about to tear you.

“I will eradicate your legacy. The spirit of the Bat.

“And Gotham will be mine.”

Blood swims before Bruce’s eyes.

“There is no such thing as the spirit of the Bat.” He purrs.

“I am only a man in a costume.

“And after I am dead, the city will be as strange and hostile to you as it is now.

“Just as foreign a land.”

Bane screams. He lunges for Bruce.

_Thump._

Bruce’s skull cracks against the fresh snow of the winter, and the hard soil beneath. Ice trickles into his ears.

“You’re not even trying,” says Bane.

“Does your city mean so less to you?”

Bruce opens his eyes. He sees Hannibal standing at the edge of the clearing, placidly watching, his hands tucked into his trench coat.

“My city means the world to me, Bane. That is why I will not earn it with blood.

“It deserves better.”

Bane picks up a boulder. He’s bringing it down on Bruce’s face---

Barbara emerges from behind Hannibal, a gun in her hand. As Bruce rolls away, a gunshot echoes. Red spatters on ice.

“No!”

Bruce staggers up. Abigail runs out of the cabin, into Hannibal’s arms.

“Is it over?” she asks.

“Yes,” he replies, pulling her closer.

“Don’t worry,” Barbara says. “He’s alive.”

“So what was the plan here?” Barbara is furious.

“Were you playing chicken with your life? With a monster?”

Bruce looks at her. He looks down at Bane, who is sleeping like a baby, blood trickling out into the snow from the sides of his torso.

Bruce kneels. “Help me with this, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal kneels.

“You brought my daughter,” Bruce whispers furiously.

“I wanted to keep her from watching. You made her _do_.”

Hannibal is as insouciant as ever.

“Given that you also seemed intent on only watching, someone had to do something.”

“He is not a monster, Hannibal.”

“And so you did not want the responsibility of putting him down.

“You wanted it to be on me.”

Bruce looks away.

“How much can I mean to you if getting my hands dirty is the price you’re willing to pay?”

“I didn’t mean---I couldn’t—“

“You could.”

“No. I..”

“You felt with him too much. You were the child in the well, fighting the elements every day, and being pulled under every night. The child dreaming of home.”

Bruce nods.

Barbara and Abigail stand around each other, each not sure what to make of her own father being willing to share with the other what he wasn't willing to share with her.

“Empathy is elegant, Bruce, in all the right circumstances. These are distinctly the wrong circumstances.”

“I needed to know I could take it.”

Bruce pulls out a large, wickedly curved hunting knife from his jacket. “I wanted to give him the chance that nobody had given him before. The chance to stop.

"I needed to hope.”

“But he didn’t. Stop.”

“No, he didn’t,” Bruce agrees.

They look down at the sleeping monster of Santa Prisca.

“Let’s gut him,” says Abigail.

Everyone looks at her

“What? He’s just going to lie here and die anyway.”

“Probably," says Barbara. “Probably doesn’t deserve any different.”

Bruce puts away the hunting knife. He leans down, and carries him up.

“Lend a hand?” 

Hannibal puts his shoulder to Bruce’s. Together they hoist Bane over their backs.

“Let’s go home.”

Abigail pouts, but starts walking.

“I want to stay here for a while,” says Barbara. She indicates the blood spill under the elm tree.

“I need to come to terms. With this.”

Hannibal and Bruce look at each other.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “Take as long as you need.”

They start walking.

Once the party is out of sight, Barbara sits down. Her trousers splosh in the wet. The sun is already melting the snow, burying the evidence.

She puts her head on her knees.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the day Bruce had decided to take on the whole darn East End.

He was well aware that beating up a bunch of pimps wasn't going to _solve_ anything. But then he'd seen this _thug_ lay a hand on this orange-haired girl--she couldn't be more than twelve--and he'd just snapped.

Turns out the girl was the real one to worry about. She stuck a knife in his thigh, and when Bruce raised his hand to stop her from driving it in any further, she interpreted that as an attempt to smack her, and sunk her teeth into his hand.

It is a hell of a day. 

"I'm on your side," he grits out. " _Fuck."_

 _"_ You hurt Sal." The girl stands, defiant, gnashing her teeth. Her hair stands on end, a wild creature, trying to look bigger than it is. 

"Darn, girl, you're scary." He says. 

She looks bemused for a moment. Nobody had ever called her _scary._

She sorta likes it. 

"You a cop?" she asks, hesitantly. 

Bruce knows that if he says yes, its the end of their...whatever this is. If it's a no, then what? 

"No," he says, gritting his teeth, and pulling out the knife in one clean stroke. Blood bubbles out from between his fingers. 

"Mistah, you shouldn'ta pulled out the knife. You're gonna die."

Bruce looks at her. Her blue eyes are trying to hide the panic bubbling beneath the surface. 

She doesn't want to become a killer. Not so soon. 

"Don't worry," he says. A cop siren sounds somewhere in the distance. Some bastard has called the cops. _Shit._

He's about twenty yards from his car. He can make it. He hobbles. 

"There's a first-aid kit somewhere in there," he says, cocking his head in the car's general direction. The others are standing back, uncomfortable. They want him gone. The young girl is worrying at her lip. Her pimp has disappeared. 

"Gimme your keys, mistah. I'll get it."

Bruce may be an idealist, but he's not an idiot. He asks her to help him instead. She offers her shoulder reluctantly. 

They reach his car just as the sirens get nearer. The girl's eyes get panicky and wider. 

"They're coming for me!" She's wailing now.

Bruce takes his weight off her shoulder. "Kid. What's your name?"

"Holly." She answers, her eyes now threatening to overflow any minute. _Poor kid._

"Holly. Listen. They're not coming after you. You're...not their demographic, okay?"

She doesn't look convinced. "I shouldn'ta stabbed you."

"You were doing the only thing you knew how." He opens the door. "Help me dress this up. Then we're gonna get the hell outa here, alright? That is, only if you want to."

"What kinda choice do I have?" Her voice is small. 

They get in. 

"Alright. Holly. You'll have to help me, okay? Put your feet on the gas."

Holly does so. Bruce slides the keys in. The engine hums. 

"What about me man?" she asks.

Bruce looks at her.

"Your man ain't gonna get at you no more," he says. "I promise you that."

The car starts. They take off, Bruce stirring, Holly powering the car. They could get a ticket. Bruce laughs, thinking about how he was going to have to explain this. 'Ah, officer, you see, my leg is out of commission, so I'm letting this underage streetwalker help me get to a hospital...'

_Fuck._

He pulls off his cap.

"I'm Bruce," he says. "Bruce Wayne."

He's expecting Holly's eyes widen. But she doesn't look surprised.

"Yeah, we get our share a' wasps," she says.

"I'm not a wasp," Bruce says, offended.

"Are too," she rejoins. "So why ya beatin' up my pimp? He fail to satisfy ya or somethin'? Summin' wrong with the goods?"

Bruce flinches.

"No." He licks his lips.

"Then what, mistah? You some kinda crazy do-gooder?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Huh.

"Like Superman?" she asks brightly, her azure orbs glowing.

Bruce laughs, despite himself. "No. Not like Superman."

"Good." The girl settles back.

"Neve' liked 'im anyway."


	7. Chapter 7

Barbara is awoken at goddamn _four. In the evening._ By Bruce, of all people. Who you would think would understand the need for quality daytime sleep. 

Then again. 

Bruce is wearing what looks like a fedora. _Who wears fedoras anymore?_ His trousers are dark and encrusted with...ketchup.

_Shit._

"Come inside."

Bruce steps in. Barbara waves goodbye to anymore sleep. 

"Don't worry, nothing major," he says, looking around at her lamplit apartment. 

"Sit down. Let me get you some tea."

"Hannibal has rubbed off on you. More than I'm comfortable with."

A wry twist of her mouth. "There's an ailment for every tea."

"I don't think that's the way that goes."

He sits in the comfy, luxurious neo-Gregorian chair that is completely out of place in the bohemian decor.

"Barb. It'll only take a minute."

Barbara peeks her head out of the kitchen. 

"I'm firing you."

"You _what?_ "

"I've found your replacement."

"Okay, Bruce, you're going to have to be a little less opaque than that."

"There's this girl. Holly. She shows...potential. She's rough around the edges...but so were you."

Barbara stares. 

"Remember that Batgirl suit you're always working on, but never finish? And I _do_ think sixteen is a bit old for pixie tights, now that I think of it."

"So...let me get this straight. You come here, walk into my pad, demand some tea--"

"I never demanded--"

"--and then tell me I'm _fired."_

"Well, fired is a bit of a strong term for it. I think _promotion_ is more...suitable."

"Fired is the term you used."

"I've always wanted to use it. Never got to, at WE. I'm too nice."

"Asshole." Barbara walks over with the hot tea in her hand.

"Woah...careful with that." Bruce starts rising.

In an entirely predictable turn of events, she throws it on his face.

"Promotion accepted," she smiles. 


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal makes Holly a quick veal kidney stir-fry for breakfast.

"When will he be back?" she asks, legs dangling off the kitchen counter as she eats, sighing as each mouthful tittilates her taste buds.

"I have no idea," Hannibal says simply.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

He looks at her quietly. 

"What gives you that idea?"

"Um...you cook breakfast in his kitchen? And feed his dogs? And...wear his shirts?"

He quirks one eyebrow. 

"Bruce and I simply share the same impeccable taste in French tailors."

"Whatever. Hey, can I have more of this?"

"Certainly." Hannibal turns to the stove. "On second thought, how would you like some sourdough bagels with goulash?"

"Some sourdou--what?"

He sighs. _Really, where_ does _Bruce pick up these children? The streets?_

_Of course._

He turns on the oven, and starts kneading. 


	9. Chapter 9

Abigail is going off to college. 

The last time she tried to, sixteen girls had ended up dead. 

This time, she has no idea how close she's coming to making a meal of herself.

Hannibal twists and turns in bed. _It would be so easy._

_Preserve her forever._

Don't let her slip away. 

He gets up, and puts on his coat. 

And that is how Dr. Hannibal Lecter is found sleepwalking down an alley by a parking mate, muttering a name. Over and over.

"Something foreign, sarg. Didn't get it," he tells his superior officer, after the good doctor ends up in lockup. 'Temporary, for his own safety'.

Hannibal pays his way out. It's best shrugged off. Nothing more than a temporary overwhelming of the nervous system.

_I am no Garrett Jacob Hobbs._

He goes to the Manor.

Bruce answers on the third ring. He's surprised to see Hannibal literally on his doorstep. Usually, the man abhors the rudeness of a second ring. Today, he looks like he's barely slept.

"You need to keep a watch on me." He tells Bruce shortly.

"A watch?"

"Do not take it lightly. I will not...cannot..."

Bruce doesn't know _what_ is going on here. But in his entire life, he's never seen Hannibal so...

Defeated. 

Withdrawn. 

_Desperate._

"Does this have anything to do with Abigail?" he asks with one of his preternatural leaps of intuition.

Hannibal isn't even looking at him.

"She is leaving for college, right?"

He sits down. Even ragged at the edges of his mind, he is collected enough not to crinkle his jacket.

"There is something, Bruce, you don't know. About me."

Bruce puts a hand on his friend. 

"I will not force your confidence by the circumstances you're in. Abigail will be safe."

Hannibal looks up. 

"Safe," Bruce repeats.

Safe. 


End file.
